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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25423603">You Did It For Yourself</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>In the Wampire Hall of Fang, Yeah [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Count Duckula</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Post-The Rest Is History, Slight Differences In Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:28:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25423603</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I wouldn’t have what?” Duckula interrupted, his voice distant and eerily empty. “Existed? Or maybe I could’ve been born normally- I could’ve had a <em>real</em> childhood- I could have gone to school, I could have had friends… I could’ve been <em>normal.</em> And you- or <em>‘Igorth’</em> or whatever your name was back then- took <em>all</em> of that away from me. Instead I lived out my childhood locked away in this stupid castle, constantly being expected to live up to a legacy that I don’t even <em>want</em> to live up to. I could’ve changed all that, Igor- if it hadn’t been for <em>you.”</em> The young Master slowly stood up and stepped out of the shadows, a cold expression on his face. “Stop playing pretend. You didn’t do it for <em>me,</em> Igor. You did it for <em>yourself.”</em> He angrily jabbed a finger at Igor’s chest as he continued, “You didn’t do it for <em>anyone</em> except for <em>yourself.”</em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Count Duckula &amp; Igor (Count Duckula)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>In the Wampire Hall of Fang, Yeah [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818502</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25315918">Roots</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowfire125/pseuds/shadowfire125">shadowfire125</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Duckula was sprawled in his bed, face down in his pillow, quiet sobs emanating from his beak intermittently. He failed. He <em>failed.</em> And as a result, the Duckula line were all still vampires, and the current Count was again stuck having to live in this stupid castle, having to deal with constantly drafty rooms (they were already in debt because of all the holes Nanny's left in the walls over the years, so trying to keep up repairs for the castle was becoming not worth all the expense), and Igor trying to turn him into a "proper Duckula." As if all that weren't bad enough, they had a stupid talking bat to take care of now. Not trusting Igor to <em>not</em> feed the bat to the werewolf, Duckula hung up the bat's cage in the corner of his bedroom.</p><p>And that bat just <em>wouldn't</em> shut up. "Don't forget to put the cat out!" the bat called for what had to be the millionth time. Or perhaps it was the trillionth. The young Master had lost count somewhere around three thousand. Something in Duckula snapped. He sat up and whipped around, tears still damp in his feathers, his eyes now narrowed in an angry glare.</p><p>"This is <em>your</em> fault," the Count hissed at the bat as he stomped up to it. "This is your fault. This is <em>Igorth's</em> fault... and it's also <em>Igor's</em> fault! It's ESPECIALLY Igor's fault!"</p><p>"Don't forget to put the cat out!" the bat replied, unfazed by its new owner's rage. It was almost as if the creature was <em>mocking</em> him.</p><p>"Shut up, shut up, <em>shut up, SHUT UP!" </em>Duckula shrieked as he turned away, screwing his eyes shut and tugging on his hair, precariously close losing his mind. He sunk down to his knees and leaned his back against the wall, releasing his hair and letting the back of his head fall limply against the wooden structure. What did he do to deserve this? What did he do to deserve this torment? What did he do to deserve failing again and again, especially after coming so, <em>so</em> close to success? What did he do to have to be reborn time and time again, being the latest in a long line of vicious, blood-sucking monsters? And then he heard a firm rap on his bedroom door, and the sound of Igor’s voice calling for him. His was the last voice the Count wanted to hear right now.</p><p>“Go away, Igor…” Duckula shuffled farther into the shadowy corner of his bedroom, tucking his legs close to his body and wrapping his arms around them. The door of his bedroom swung open and in stepped Igor, who apparently wasn’t heeding his Master’s order to leave.</p><p>“Milord, if you had been allowed to succeed in your venture, you would not have—”</p><p>“I wouldn’t have what?” Duckula interrupted, his voice distant and eerily empty. “Existed? Or maybe I could’ve been born normally- I could’ve had a <em>real</em> childhood- I could have gone to school, I could have had friends… I could’ve been <em>normal.</em> And you- or <em>‘Igorth’</em> or whatever your name was back then- took <em>all</em> of that away from me. Instead I lived out my childhood locked away in this stupid castle, constantly being expected to live up to a legacy that I don’t even <em>want</em> to live up to. I could’ve changed all that, Igor- if it hadn’t been for <em>you.”</em> The young Master slowly stood up and stepped out of the shadows, a cold expression on his face. “Stop playing pretend. You didn’t do it for <em>me,</em> Igor. You did it for <em>yourself.”</em> He angrily jabbed a finger at Igor’s chest as he continued, “You didn’t do it for <em>anyone</em> except for <em>yourself.”</em> Igor opened his beak to speak, but not a word escaped. Not that it mattered- Duckula didn’t want to hear what his butler had to say anyway. “Just get out, Igor,” the smaller bird murmured weakly. “Just… get out. Please…”</p><p>After about two minutes of them just staring at each other- Duckula waiting for Igor to argue, and Igor waiting for Duckula to change his mind- the vulture realised that the Count wasn’t about to back down. “Very well, milord. If you insist.” Without another word, he turned around and trudged out of the room, leaving his Master to his own devices. Duckula, after about a minute of staring sadly into the empty space Igor had been standing in just a moment earlier, turned around to face the mirror leaning against his bedroom wall.</p><p>Rage boiled in his chest once more as he stared at the shiny glass, which mocked him with its lack of a reflection- and only a few seconds later, the glass had been smashed, and Duckula’s knuckles were dripping with a vibrant crimson.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Twenty-three years ago…</em>
</p><p>Four year-old Duckula raced excitedly down the hall, a potted plant clutched in his hands. He burst into the library- where, sure enough, Igor sat in one of its many uncomfortable chairs, silently reading the large leather book resting in his lap. “Igor! Igor! Look, look!” Duckula carelessly shoved the book off the much older bird’s lap and set the plant down in its place- meanwhile Igor clutched the armrests of his chair, fingers digging into the wood, staring down at the hideous green thing as if it were about to attack. The vulture tore his eyes away from the plant and settled his gaze on the young Master, who at the moment was looking very pleased with himself. The emerald duckling pointed at the plant, beaming up at Igor with a wide smile. “I planted my first bro… broc… uhh… tiny green tree!”</p><p>Igor looked warily back at the plant. He realised with some chagrin that the Count had indeed planted one of those ugly things called “broccoli” (although clearly the young Master need some tutoring as to how to properly plant one, as all he did was dig a hole and then stick a chunk of broccoli in it). Curse Nanny and her need to keep her Duckyboos “healthy” by feeding him veggies all the time. The worst part was the fact that Duckula seemed to prefer fruits and vegetables over the more traditional diet of a true vampire.</p><p>“Milord, it is called a ‘broccoli,’” Igor corrected, cringing at the word as it slid out of his mouth. “Repeat after me. ‘Brocc-o-li.’”</p><p>Duckula struggled a moment, trying to form the word properly with his beak. “‘Brocc… brocc… brocco… li… broccoli!” He smiled triumphantly up at Igor. “Broccoli!”</p><p>“Well done, sir,” Igor replied. “Now, can you say ‘guillotine?’”</p><p>Duckula’s beak wrinkled in disgust as soon as his butler said the word. “Yucky yuck- Igor, don’t be disgusting!” He reached for his broccoli plant- which was still in the other bird’s lap- and removed it. Igor bent down and picked up the book that, after having been shoved off his lap earlier, had landed on the floor. Thankfully it hadn’t been damaged, though now Igor would have to flip through the book again to find where he left off. “I wanna name him,” Duckula announced, practically cradling the potted plant in his arms as if it were a child. “I know! I’ll call him Igor! I’ll name him after you!”</p><p>Igor was taken aback by this declaration- he also wasn’t sure if he should be honoured or mortified at the gesture. Having something named after him was quite flattering indeed, but the fact that it was a plant that was now apparently carrying his name was rather souring.</p><p>Before the vulture could protest, however, Duckula was already scurrying away, calling for Nanny so he could tell her the good news.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Present day…</em>
</p><p>Igor didn’t care then, Duckula realised as he recalled the look of pure and utter horror on his butler’s face in that moment. Igor didn’t care then, and he definitely didn’t care now. “I’ll bet he wouldn’t care if I died,” Duckula muttered to himself, pacing around his room relentlessly. “Heck, he’d probably be whooping for joy…” He stopped pacing and sighed, trailing his gaze wearily across the room. It was all so dark… and bleak…</p><p>The mallard plopped down on his bed, sprawling across the mattress, his fingers digging into the musty old quilt. “Don’t forget to put the cat out,” the bat called from its cage. Oh, right. He had nearly forgotten it was there.</p><p>“The cat’s already out,” Duckula spat at it, hoping this would get the creature to shut up. The bat chirped approvingly at this, and was quiet after that. The Count let his head fall back against his pillow as he shuddered a soft, sad sigh. Was there any point in trying to continue to fight it? Time and time again, he tried to change things- but always, always, everything stayed the same. He kept failing over and over, and nothing ever changed. At the end of the day, he always wound up right back where he started. Maybe it was about time he gave up.</p><p>“No,” Duckula murmured to himself. “No.” He wasn’t going to give up. He was going to keep pushing. He was going to keep fighting, and he was going to prove to both the world and Igor that he could be more than just another in a long line of horrific monsters. No matter how many times it took, no matter how many times he fell down, Duckula was going to keep getting back up.</p><p>He would make it there, eventually. He just had to keep trying.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yeah, I'm sure Duckula gets reincarnated as an adult in canon, but tiny kid Duckula is too cute to resist- 😹😹😹😹 Also, please go read the Duckula fic "Roots" by shadowfire125- words can't even begin to describe how amazing their fic is-</p><p>JUST GO CHECK IT OUT ALREADY!!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A good part of this chapter was inspired by the Duckula fanfic "Roots" by shadowfire125- whose stuff you should totally check out!! Especially "Roots." That fic is so freaking BEAUTIFUL, my heart- JUST GO READ IT ALREADY!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The Transylvanian Alps, twenty-seven years ago… </em>
</p><p>Igor’s beak flopped open dramatically as he stared at the open ketchup bottle in his hand. The label glared right back at him, seemingly mocking him. “Oh, Nanny! What- what have you <em>done?!?”</em></p><p>“Uhmm…” Nanny raised his finger to her chin, trying to determine precisely what Igor was referring to. “Well, I puts the refrigerator to wash this morning- ooh, but I had a bit of trouble clipping it to the clothes line-”</p><p>“Nanny!” Igor snapped angrily, interrupting her. “I was not referring to what you were- that is, I was- I- oh <em>never mind,</em> Nanny!” The elderly butler turned around to face the casket, which was surrounded by a set of ancient symbols that were now engulfing the aforementioned casket in a soft white glow. The vulture shuffled over to the small wooden table where the <em>Official Guide to Reincarnation Rituals and Talismans</em> was, and flipped it open, carefully turning the fragile yellow pages until he reached the stage of the ritual that they were on. “And now, it is time for the chant- soon, Nanny, all will be right in the world once more! In a few years, we shall be wreaking havoc on the pathetic peasants below, kidnapping their maidens and bringing them to the Master-”</p><p>“Oh, Mister Igor, that’s not very kind, kidnapping the poor dears- you’ll be givin’ them a scare, you will! Why can’t you just ask them nicely to come to the Castle?” Nanny reprimanded crossly, her eyes narrowed in disapproval and her free hand resting on her hip as if to emphasise.</p><p>“Oh, <em>why</em> do I even bother?” Igor growled, trudging back over to the casket with his guide in hand. He stood before the coffin, settling his reading glasses carefully upon his beak, and took a deep breath before reading aloud the chant. <em>“Kho’le tiharn- fy’ra’rem, zeh’lahak, zeh’herem, qua’arack itarmen nihi’lis, etermuqal kho’le reo’zeal zy’rem.” </em>The brightness of symbols’ glow began to increase in their intensity, to the point where both butler and nanny were almost blinded. The symbols flared even brighter for a split second, before the glow flickered out of existence entirely. Igor blinked quickly as his eyes slowly adjusted to the change in lighting, and settled his gaze on the coffin. Peering out from inside was a small, emerald-green feathered baby duckling. The clothes of his predecessor were of course much too big, and curled around him in a heap. Unlike the previous Duckulas, his fangs were nothing more than tiny little stubs, barely visible to the naked eye. Igor bent down and picked up the baby duckling, carefully examining the small fowl in his hands, a disgusted scowl on his face. Duckula lifted his tiny head to look at Igor, and a happy smile spread across the baby’s bill. He lifted a little green hand and settled it on the butler’s beak.</p><p>“Ooohh, isn’t that just <em>adorable</em>, Mister Igor?” Nanny gushed joyfully, wiping away a tear that had started working its way down her cheek. “He loves you already- most of the others were always bitin’ an’ clawin’ at you!”</p><p>“He <em>‘loves’</em> me?!?” Igor’s scowl warped into a snarl as he spat the words. Meanwhile the baby resting in his hands was happily babbling gibberish to the butler, not that the latter was even paying any attention. “He ‘loves’ <em>me??!?</em> Nanny- how- <em>how</em> could you say such a <em>terrible </em>thing?!? The Duckulas are not <em>meant </em>to <em>love</em>. They are meant for one thing, and one thing only- to bring about wonderful <em>pain</em> and <em>misery</em> to the lives of those living in the valley below!!” Baby Duckula’s face scrunched up as the vulture’s voice rose a few octaves or so, and burst out crying.</p><p>Nanny scooped the sobbing duckling out of Igor’s hands and into her arms, gently cradling him and murmuring soft soothing sounds. As she stroked the young Master’s tuft of hair, she whipped her head up and glared daggers at the much older bird. “Now look wat you’ve done, Mister Igor! You’ve upset my little dumplin’!” She then turned her gaze back on the still-crying baby in her arms and resumed her quiet murmurings. “Ooh, it’s alright, my Duckyboos- Nanny is here. Nanny is here.”</p><p>Igor snarled in annoyance and turned away from the sickeningly sweet scene. He had work to do- work that he knew most certainly wasn’t going to do itself.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Nineteen years ago…</em>
</p><p>Igor sat in the living room, opened up newspaper in hand, and his usual reading glasses perched upon his beak. It was a fairly peaceful evening- the setting sun, which had almost completely disappeared behind the jagged rocky mountain peaks, spilled blood-red splatters across the darkening skies. A cool breeze washed into the room from a nearby open window, chilling the butler in question to the bone- not that he cared. If anything, he enjoyed the cold air that blasted him, and was disappointed when it ended all too soon.</p><p>“Daddy, Daddy!” Duckula’s high-pitched voice rang shrilly from the open doorway as he rushed into the room excitedly. He practically leapt onto Igor’s lap, shoving aside the newspaper. “Guess what? Guess what?”</p><p>“‘Daddy?’” Igor repeated, his voice filled to the brim with disgust at the new form of address. “Milord, what is it that I have done to deserve such cruelty?”</p><p>The young Master in question, who shuffled around a bit in the vulture’s lap so that way he was more comfortable, looked up at Igor in mild confusion. “What’re you talking about, Igor?” He then cuddled up to the butler’s side, apparently having decided that the man was his new pillow or something of the like. Igor took the Count’s shoulder in one hand, and gently but firmly pushed him away a bit- much to the younger bird’s disappointment.</p><p>“What I mean, sir, is <em>why</em> are you calling me <em>‘Daddy?’”</em> Igor practically spat out that last word. “Why, may I ask, have you found this new- and rather <em>distasteful</em>- form of address appropriate?”</p><p>“You’re my dad, aren’t you?” Duckula asked tentatively. “I mean, like- not literally- well, kind of literally- I mean- what I’m trying to say is- you made me. You and Nanny made me. Soooooooo… that kinda makes you my parents, doesn’t it?”</p><p>Igor stared down at the child with a look of horror, as if he had blurted an expletive (an act that the butler would actually encourage, if the young Master did so). “Milord, Nanny and I are <em>not</em> your parents. We are your <em>servants.</em> Nothing more, nothing less.”</p><p>“…”</p><p>“Do you understand, sir?”</p><p>“No, I don’t understand,” Duckula told him, staring blankly. “You made me- you’re <em>raising</em> me- I- how can you be just my <em>servants??</em> That’s stuff that <em>parents</em> do, right?”</p><p>“For the last time, milord- we are <em>only </em>your <em>servants,”</em> Igor retorted, trying to reach for his newspaper. “Now, if you will excuse me-” Duckula got there first, however, and tossed the paper out of the vulture’s reach. “Was that truly necessary?”</p><p>“If it’ll keep your attention on me, then yeah, it was,” the young Master answered pointedly.</p><p>“Milord-”</p><p>“Stop calling me things like ‘milord’ and ‘sir’,” Duckula interrupted, scowling up at the older bird. “Call me by my name!”</p><p>“Oh, very well, sir,” Igor replied drily.</p><p>“You did it again!” The Count shifted in the vulture’s lap again, turning around to face him. A forlorn expression was spread across Duckula’s face. “Why won’t you listen to me? Why <em>don’t</em> you listen to me??” When Igor didn’t respond, the duckling pressed, “Do you… do you not… care? Do… do you hate me???”</p><p>“How I feel about you is irrelevant, sir,” Igor merely said. “I am here to do my job, which is to serve you as your <em>butler.</em> Nanny mothers you far too much as it is- surely that is enough?”</p><p>Duckula stared up at Igor, his little yellow beak open to speak- but not a single word came out. After a moment, he closed his mouth and slid off the older bird’s lap. The young Master stood there hesitantly, trying to figure out what to say- finally, after what seemed like forever (but was really only two minutes, approximately), he said, “Okay then… I guess that’s that… <em>‘Igor.’”</em></p><p>Igor’s expression lit up a little at being once more addressed by his name. “Ah, very good, sir! Now then, I believe it is time for your supper-” The vulture glanced down at his wristwatch and then looked back up at the Count, seemingly not noticing the hurt running rampant through the latter’s features. “- I have a fresh maiden stowed away in the freezer, if you’d care to have a lit-”</p><p>Duckula just walked out at the mention of a maiden in the freezer, shaking his head sadly. How could he not see it before? Igor, simply put, didn’t seem to give a crap. The young duckling found himself in his own bedroom, and locked the door behind him. Not that it mattered- no doubt when Nanny finished cooking dinner, she’d accidently smash the door trying to get him down to the dining hall to eat. And no doubt Igor would probably use the opportunity to sneak something disgusting into his food and/or drink.</p><p>Duckula flopped into his bed and sighed tiredly, kicking back the blankets and then tugging them over his body, curling up into a little ball. He’d sleep for now, and wait for Nanny to bust down his door, nagging him that his food “was goin’ to get cold.”</p><p>At least <em>she</em> seemed to care about his well-being. Unlike Igor, whose only concern was when his Master would finally “embrace” his heritage and they could “get back to the good old days.”</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Present day… underneath a Mayan temple…</em>
</p><p>“The map says the treasure should be <em>right here!”</em> Duckula pointed down at the little “X” scribbled on the aforementioned piece of paper. He lowered the map and settled his gaze on the open stone sarcophagus that sat in before them- nothing was in it, save for a bare skeleton covered in cobwebs and crawling with spiders. The young Master stepped closer, shining his flashlight into the coffin. “But there’s nothing here except for this <em>dead guy!”</em></p><p>“Hmm, not enough meat on his bones, and certainly not enough blood in his veins,” Igor remarked, chuckling darkly. “Not even a half-decent jugular, for that matter-”</p><p>“Igor, honestly-” Duckula shook his head and looked over at Nanny. “Nanny, you see anything that looks like it might be a switch or something?? The treasure’s gotta be hidden in this room <em>somewhere!”</em></p><p>“Or, it simply could be that someone has already taken the treasure, and this venture was all for nothing,” Igor countered.</p><p>“Wouldja stop being such a downer and actually make yourself useful for once?!?” The Count whipped around to face his butler, pointing the flashlight’s beam right in the vulture’s face for good measure. “All you’ve ever done since we started this expedition is whine, whine, <em>whine-</em>”</p><p>“Milord-”</p><p>Duckula pressed his index finger to Igor’s beak, effectively silencing him for the moment. “And I’m getting real sick of it, Igor! I don’t know <em>why</em> I keep putting up with you- at least <em>Nanny’s</em> making an effort- isn’t that right, Nanny?”</p><p>“Uhmm…” Nanny put a finger under her beak as she considered her response. “Yes?”</p><p>“Yeah yeah- you see, Igor- you see!” The young Master waved his hands about dramatically as if to emphasise. “Why can’t you be useful too?? At this point I might as well just start <em>leaving</em> you behind in the Castle! I mean, you never want to come along anyway, so it’s a win win for both of us!!” With that, he whirled back around and started stomping about the room, years of bubbling anger and frustration trailing behind every step.</p><p>“But milord-”</p><p><em>“Not</em> another word, Igor, I don’t wanna hear it!” Duckula growled, approaching an ancient statue in the far end of the room. Before he reached it, though, he stepped on a loose stone tile- which sunk into the floor. “Uh oh..” The Count stepped off the panel- which was clearly not the best decision, as a trap door quickly slid open underneath him. As he remained suspended in midair for a moment, Duckula whipped his head up to look at Igor and Nanny- both of whom wore concerned expressions on their faces.</p><p>Before anyone could say anything, Duckula was already plunging into the tunnel below.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, this fic is apparently gonna be quite a bit longer than I thought it would be... don't worry, I think we're past the flashbacks for now, so we'll be focusing on the present for the remainder of this story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>At this point, I'm going to list this work as officially inspired by "Roots", because a lot of similar themes from that story have made their way into this fic, and the concept overall is pretty much the same, so yeah.😹😹😹😹 Anyways, constructive criticism is appreciated, FLAMES are NOT.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“NyyaaAAAAAHHHHAHAHAHHHHHH!!!!!”</p><p>Duckula crashed unceremoniously at the bottom of the tunnel, landing hard on his rear end, and being engulfed in pitch-black darkness as his flashlight’s bulb shattered upon impact. He sat there in the black, stunned for a moment, as his senses caught up with him. “This is great… just <em>great!</em> No treasure, I’m separated from Nanny and Igor, I don’t know where the <em>heck </em>I am now, and-” Duckula’s voice caught in his throat, and he shuffled closer to the wall, leaning his back against cold stone and tucking his legs close to his body. He wrapped his arms around his legs. “It’s dark in here…” He whimpered softly, a sinking feeling making its way into the pit of his stomach, twisting everything up in its wake. “Just- just stay calm-stay calm- everything’s fine, Nanny and Igor will find you,” he murmured to himself, shivering as the cold air chilled his feathers. “Everything’s gonna be okay… I just need to stay calm…”</p><p>However, Duckula’s building terror won out, and he started screaming and yelling. “HELP! <em>HEEELP!</em> CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME?!?! SOMEBODY, ANYBODY- GET ME <em>OUTTA </em>HERE!!! PLEASE!!” His cries fell on deaf walls, and the young Master broke down into sobs. “What’d I do to deserve <em>this??”</em> he asked no one in particular, trying in vain to wipe away the tears trailing down his face. “What’d I do…?” If there was an answer to the question, there was no one to give it to him.</p><p>He didn’t know exactly how long he had been in that chamber before Igor and Nanny were able to find him- most likely at least a few hours. The two servants walked down the corridor towards the now-sniffling duck, flashlight beams shining on him (and almost blinding him). “Ooh, there you are, Duckyboos!” Duckula lifted his head, trying to compose himself- not that it mattered. Nanny could tell he had been crying, with his puffy eyes and snot-stained sleeves. “It’s alright, Nanny is here…” She scooped up the emerald duck into her arms and held him close, murmuring soft soothing noises. This action brought about another round of sobbing from Duckula.</p><p>“I wanna go home- I just wanna go home-” he choked out, burying his face in her shoulder.</p><p>“Sir, if I may-” Igor started. Duckula pulled his head away from Nanny’s shoulder and looked at the butler- not with his usual glare, but rather an empty stare devoid of any emotions. This effectively cut the vulture’s words short.</p><p>“Whatever it is, forget it, Igor,” Duckula said weakly. “I just wanna go back to the castle…” He then let his head fall back onto Nanny’s shoulder, closing his eyes and sighing tiredly.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Two weeks later, back in Transylvania…</em>
</p><p>Duckula’s constant thirst for adventure seemed to have disappeared entirely- no longer did the trio go out every other day to some godforsaken (in Igor’s opinion, anyway) corner of the globe on some stupid travel trip or unsuccessful quest for riches. At first the butler relished in the chance to fully absorb the peace and quiet, accompanied silently but faithfully by the region’s usual gloom and doom. But as the days ticked by, Igor found himself becoming more and more restless. For one, while he would <em>never</em> admit it (if anything, he’d rather die in every horrible manner imaginable than admit it), he missed their adventures to some degree. And two, he hadn’t seen or heard from his Master in a long while, and it was becoming rather… worrisome. Not that Igor would admit that either.</p><p>From what Nanny had told him, the young Count had holed himself up in his bedroom, and only came out at erratically random intervals to eat, use the bathroom, and occasionally walk Towser. At first Igor had told himself that Duckula would get over it, and soon enough he and Nanny would get dragged along on another one of the mallard’s zany schemes. But as the days ticked by, it soon became quite apparent that this was not going to be the case. Duckula only spoke to Nanny whenever he came out, and he avoided any contact with Igor entirely. Finally the vulture butler could stand it no longer, and found himself standing in front of the young Master’s door, wringing his hands anxiously.</p><p>Would Duckula even want to talk to him? And if so, how would the encounter end? Would they be able to finally take a step forward in trying to fix the damage Igor had caused between them over the past two and a half decades, or would it end like all their talks always did- with them both walking away, hurt, and wondering why they even tried in the first place?</p><p>There was no use in standing here, spiraling into what-ifs.</p><p>Igor raised a hand and rapped lightly on the door. “Milord?” He addressed quietly, cringing at the painful uncertainty in his voice. Oh, the woes of having that horrid thing people liked to call “emotions.” He certainly could do without them, if he had a choice in the matter. It would make things so much easier.</p><p>In any case, there was no response. So he tried knocking again. “Milord… are you in there?”</p><p>Finally, a muffled voice replied in an irritated tone, “Yeah… what do you want?”</p><p>“Is… is the door… unlocked?… I… I wish to speak to you…”</p><p>There was a moment of silence. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Duckula answered, “Yeah, it’s unlocked.”</p><p>Igor twisted the knob and gently pushed open the door, the light from the hallway illuminating the otherwise dark room. The butler gaped at what he saw as he stepped into the young Master’s bedroom. The mirror (why one was even in this room to begin with was beyond his comprehension) was thoroughly smashed, shards of glass lying scattered across the floor. Carved deep into the walls were things like “I didn’t ask to be made” and “What did I do to deserve this?”- one wall in particular had the word “Why” etched over and over all across it.</p><p>“… Sir…?”</p><p>Igor made his way over to Duckula’s bed, where the Count himself was sprawled face-down. The latter lifted his head off his pillow and looked over at the butler, who was now standing beside the bed, playing with his hands uncertainly. There was another awkward pause, where neither uttered a single word.</p><p>Duckula broke the silence by finally asking, “Am I cursed or something, Igor?”</p><p>“‘Cursed?’” Igor repeated, raising an eyebrow. Out of all the things he expected the Master to say to him, this was not one of them. “I have been a necromancer for the better part of eight hundred years, milord- over a thousand if you were to count my previous incarnations. I would know if you had been ‘cursed.’”</p><p>“So that’s a no then… right?”</p><p>“To put it simply? Yes, it is a no.”</p><p>Another pause.</p><p>“Then why is it that it seems like I’m doomed to be nothing more than just… just a…” Duckula seemed to be unable to finish his sentence.</p><p>“A vampire?”</p><p>“A screw-up,” Duckula corrected, his voice quieting somewhat. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, leaning his back against the bedpost and facing his butler. “A vampire-<em>not-</em>wannabe, if that makes any sense… no wonder…”</p><p>“… ‘no wonder’ what, sir?” Igor asked, sitting down next to the smaller bird. He tentatively reached a hand forward, and hesitated a moment before settling it on Duckula’s. Duckula bit his lower beak, debating whether or not to answer. “Sir?”</p><p>“I… it’s no wonder you hate me,” the duck finally answered, starting to pull his hand away from Igor’s. The latter tightened his grip a little- no, he was not going to let it end like this. Not now. Not when he could try to fix things.</p><p>“Milord, I don’t hate you,” Igor told him. “Have I been frequently exasperated by your constant antics? More often than not, yes. Do I loathe the many escapades you drag us along on? Yes, especially so when the <em>sea</em> and <em>boats</em> are involved. But there has <em>never</em> been a moment where I could ever describe my… <em>feelings</em> about you as ‘hate.’ How…” He swallowed hard before continuing, “How could a… father hate his own son?”</p><p>“Some do,” Duckula said softly, looking down at his webbed feet- which had somehow gotten tangled up in his blankets. “Some fathers <em>do</em> hate their own kids.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Igor hummed in agreement. “That is true- but not <em>this</em> one.” He gestured to himself for reference.</p><p>Duckula let out a tired chuckle- he couldn’t believe this was happening right now. This wasn’t happening right now. It must be a dream. There was no way this was real- no way at all. “Igor, what are you trying to say?” he asked as he pinched his arm hard with his free hand. “Oww!”</p><p>Igor sighed, shaking his head slowly. “I think you know precisely what it is that I am trying to say, sir.”</p><p>Duckula opened his mouth and then closed it again just as quickly. He didn’t know what to say. Should he say it? What if this really was a dream and as soon as he said it he’d wake up? And if it was real… would it change anything at all? He decided to take a chance. If there was anything he was good at, it was taking chances.</p><p>“I love you too, Igor,” Duckula finally said, placing his free hand on top of Igor’s and squeezing gently. The butler cringed at the words, clearly not used to being told by anyone that he was loved. But the young Master decided not to take it personally- this was Igor, after all.</p><p>It would take some getting used to, for the both of them.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <span class="u">THE END, and good night out there- WHATEVER YOU ARE!!</span> </em>
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